


Ships That Pass in the Night

by ezkatz



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Porn, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-01-04 13:12:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18344378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ezkatz/pseuds/ezkatz
Summary: What can be done about the corners we paint ourselves into--and the people who meet us there?





	1. The Soul-Breathing Glance

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all want some emotionally inept lesbians and bdsm? I got yer emotionally inept lesbians and bdsm right here

She first came to me late at night. I was transcribing notes I had taken earlier that day when attempting to sequence a previously modified genome; it was a poor attempt at isolating the superior cellular regenerative system a colleague had bred into a rare species of algae. The work was tedious and frustrating, as both my software and I were unaccustomed to plant genomes. The quiet knock at my door startled me and when I opened it to find Angela staring up at me with wide, apologetic eyes, I demanded an explanation more harshly than I'd intended. She bit her lip hesitantly and flushed. I pressed again, as if my patience were growing thin. Her intrusion was more of a blessing than either of us realized at the time. She told me she had heard that I could "provide specific services," and that she was interested. Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.  
This came as a surprise for three reasons: Firstly I didn't know my bedside manner was so obvious as to incite rumors; secondly--until this point--Angela had demonstrated no personal interest in me. We were both pathologically busy and I had overheard enough of her opinions of me and my work to know she wouldn't come to me for a tender hug or a shoulder to cry on. And finally, the esteemed Dr. Angela Ziegler got off to submission and masochism. Nothing made her more wet than a hand around her throat or a rope around her wrists. The thought sent a shiver up my spine.  
That night I was unprepared for her visit, but her eyes still watered when I spanked her over my desk. She gripped the wood til her knuckles turned white. I admonished her for interrupting me and drew my hand back for three, six, nine blows to her milky white arse. She moaned out a thank you as the sound of the final slap echoed through my office.  
She took to following orders well enough, waiting intently on all fours after her first of many punishments. She watched me as I slide down my trousers and boxer briefs, never moving as per her instructions. Angela looked so pretty on her knees it was like she belonged there. I pressed the toe of my shoe up against her dripping cunt and her hips quaked as she tried desperately not to grind against it. I smiled and promised to offer her relief, after she took care of me. She whimpered impatiently but licked my cunt eagerly just the same. How strange, to see someone so respected moaning into my pussy as if it were something to be worshipped; I came quietly with my hands knotted in her hair. I paused for just a moment before fulfilling my promise. She was dripping wet when I finally touched her cunt, her slick coating my fingers and wrist as she tighted around me. Her moans were heavy with relief as she came, gripping my arms with impressive strength.  
Angela left on shaky legs as soon as she was able, and the sudden quiet of my office in her absence was stifling


	2. Beside Her Clean-swept Hearth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More adventures, more smut.

This ritual continued for months afterwards. Angela would come to my office and cry and scream and beg for me to abuse and degrade her. Her body would go black and blue and red under my hands and I would swear to myself to never hurt her again--until she showed up the following night and cooed sweetly in my ear.  
Angela had worked me into a frenzy. I thought of her choking on my strap on, tears streaming down her face as I called her a whore and fucked her throat in the lab. I thought of her pale blonde hair between my fingers--soft as silk--and the sweet musk of her cunt growing wetter with every touch. Her voice rang in my ears long after she moaned and begged--as she did every time my nails carved angry red lines down her back and up her thighs. We didn't speak much outside our nighttime meetings; I thought of her ceaselessly.  
We transitioned to my quarters when her appetite outgrew my office hours. Angela had taken to wearing little more than a plain white shift to our meetings until the night it was torn. She gasped then, her eyes wide. I hungrily squeezed her full breasts in my hands, sucking and biting her nipples until they turned red. She begged for me to continue--or rather I thought she did. The strained whine in her throat made her "please" difficult to hear. She was drenched; her thighs were glistening when I ducked between them. I'd always imagined her to taste sweet but her pussy was little more than slightly metallic. She coated my chin as I took my time tracing her folds with my tongue. Angela took pain like no other but her clit was delightfully sensitive, and when I teased it one too many times she wrapped her legs tight around my head. How could I refuse?   
Her nanites ensured she was bruise free by the morning and her quick recoveries gave her all the more reason to show up on my doorstep. I often thought to ask her to stay longer, to spend more time in my arms, to share a cup of coffee with me afterwards, but she always rushed out before I could gather the courage


	3. A Brief, Dreamy, Kind Delight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut this time; my sincerest apologies

My deadlines were fast approaching and my recent distractions had left me behind. I had taken to leaving earlier to prepare my quarters for her visits; now I returned to long nights at my desk.  
The work was frustrating and left me on edge. I wanted to talk through it with Angela, but the confidential nature of my research prevented me from doing so.   
One night she messaged me twice, wanting an explanation for my absence. I wasn't at home nor in my usual office as I had been working with Commander Reyes that evening. Angela seemed panicked, almost concerned. It was undoubtedly just her being frustrated by the delay. I grit my teeth and silenced all notifications. There was no time for this.  
I came home around 4 30 to find her curled up and asleep in my doorway, clutching her comm device close to her chest. I shook her shoulder gently, trying to coax her back into consciousness. She look at me with unfocused eyes and for a moment I thought I saw the corners of her mouth twitch up before her face twisted into a hard glare. A trick of the light, surely.   
"Where were you? I was here for hours! We always meet here around 10" her voice was low and gravelly from sleep.  
"I was working. I'm sorry"   
"Working? You weren't in your office either. Where were you? I was worried sick"   
My heart fluttered for just a moment at the thought. There was no way it was true, of course. The weight of her impending disappointment sank heavy in my stomach.   
"I was just working. I'm sorry" I didn't look at her then and I didn't look at her when she got up and left.  
Our tenuous relationship was torn to shreds by my own hands. One less distraction; one less obligation.


	4. The Worst Can Be But Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not all angst after this I promise

Angela's absence was painful. I'd spent much of my life alone--married to my work, if one were feeling generous--but never had it been so lonely. The brief moments of tenderness I imagined we shared flooded my heart with joy, overflowing and aching in my chest. Now even those delusions were gone. I had flown too close to the sun; nothing but the dizzying fall lay before me. My work was at last on schedule. The progress did little to soothe me.  
I stubbornly resigned myself to my isolation. Angela was little more to me than some promise of salvation; she was the charisma I lacked with none of the emotional weakness. She was too perfect--she knew when to cut ties on a casual arrangement gone too far. She knew when to distance herself from someone who had fallen for her facade. Her affected earnestness and sincerity annoyed me now. These lies were my only comforts.  
Some nights I prayed for her to slink back into my arms. I jumped at every sound and stared impatiently at the door, waiting. Naturally, she never came.  
When we passed in the hallways I considered brushing her hand, grabbing her arm, pinning her against the wall, anything to meet her eyes. I chose to maintain a semblance of control. The thought of Angela growing desperate for my attention sparked an ember in the pit of my stomach; I refused to concede my self-righteous anger and continued to ignore her.   
On cold, miserable evenings I thought about finding her, apologizing, begging her to come back. Running back to Angela with my tail between my legs. I could never face that rejection.


	5. Unchanged-The Imponderable Face of a Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Less navel gazing and more cowardice.

She visited my office during a lunch break. Angela addressed me as Dr. O'Deorain and the formality put me on edge. It was a purely professional visit, of course: She brought me a cup of coffee and asked about my research. I told her what I could, which wasn't much, and scowled when she pressed for more. I gave her nothing and asked her to close the door on her way out.   
She returned the next week, offering me a print out of a study that I had read early on in my research. It was frankly insulting how rudimentary they were. When Angela went to leave she hesitated in my doorway, making a show of her indecision. I dug my heels in and kept my eyes on the monitor in front of me. Her low heels clicking away echoed in the hallway as another temptation. Not yet.   
Her visits continued like this, all too brief and hidden under a diaphanous veil of professionalism. She brought me coffee and asked polite questions; I was curt and gave her nothing. They became more and more infrequent and though the thought of going back to complete isolation terrified me, my pride prevented me from chasing after her. Angela's last visit occurred when I was out of my office. The only evidence of it was my rapidly cooling mug.  
I found her office the following week and closed the door behind me. Angela was surprised, but set down her work and smiled at me nonetheless.   
"How can I help you, Dr. O'Deorain?" She sounded uneasy.  
"Angela, please" My voice was small and pitiful; hardly the commanding tone I'd taken with her before.   
She stared at me for a moment, eyes narrowed as if it was a trap.   
I prepared myself for the rejection, the disgust, and the destruction of the strange tenuous bond we had only just rebuilt. She hated me, of course, and was only trying to continue to exorcise whatever psychosexual demon possessed her to come to my office to begin with.   
I was silent for a moment too long; my courage gone, I hastily apologized and took my leave.


	6. Cold as Sunrise in September

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this far!

Later that night she cornered me by my door. Together again, though no sweet reunion. She was stressed; her eyes were red and heavy lidded when she grabbed my tie and kissed me sloppily. Her voice was rough and her hands were clumsy. No time for seduction; she wanted something primeval. She wanted a monster to tear her open and release her back to sainthood, battered but pure.  
Angela quickly stripped and laid on my bed. She was soaking wet, and quickly grew bored of our usual teasing.  
Her thighs were thick and soft around my waist, holding me close while my cock pounded against her cunt. My hand around her neck, my fingers just tight enough to scare her. She blushed pretty pink before going red as she grew closer to cumming. Her exhaustion and apparent chastity since our last visit left her eager and easy to please. I saw myself as she undoubtedly did: sharp pale angles looming over her, a conduit for whatever cruelty she falsely felt she deserved, a creature with no reputation left to tarnish. I grit my teeth. True anger surged through me, twisting tight around every muscle. Damn Angela and all she pretended to stand for. Damn her cowardice. Damn her ego. Damn her pretend innocence and passivity.  
I called her a whore and she came with a loud moan, high and silver in my ears. I pulled out and turned away to remove the dildo now thoroughly coated in her slick. My cheeks burned red; there is little dignity in being someone's fuck toy. Not that I'm deserving of sympathy.  
"Lock the door behind you"  
The bubbling resentment was poorly hidden in my tone. The sweat began to dry on my skin, leaving behind a salty layer of discomfort.  
"Moira"  
My name caught heavy in her throat, mangled by her accent.  
"There are spare towels under the sink if you need to shower."  
"Please look at me"  
I couldn't. I wouldn't.  
I turned to face her. She had pulled the loose sheet up to cover herself as if to cling to a scrap of dignity. Far too late for that. Her hair was a mess and her cheeks had returned to a lively blush. She looked guilty; it didn't suit her.  
"Please"  
Her voice was softer then and the pounding heartbeat in my ears nearly drowned it out. I turned away again. Slowly I sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the increasingly sticky dildo in my hand. Once so sensual, now an object of shame.  
Angela's fingertips touched between my shoulder blades. The hairs on my arms stood on end. She shifted behind me and I squeezed my eyes shut. She wrapped an arm tentatively around my waist and pressed herself against my back. She was too warm on my skin; I felt nauseated. I wanted to scream or throw her out; I wanted to show her the monster I could be.  
"Please stay" I said in a voice that was not my own.  
She pulled me closer, her head on my shoulder. My tension and resistance slipped away and I folded into her warmth.  
However false it may be, however undeserving I might be, for now I would bask in the glow of her affection.  
I had fallen hard and the dread of the inevitable end caught in my throat.


End file.
